On The Cards
by Cloudincia Portagate
Summary: Steph Swainston's Castle series. Jant does a reading of Rhydanne fortune cars, with interesting results. If Cyan joins in it will get AU. Rating for book, not fic.
1. Jug of Beer

On the Cards  
Chapter 1: The Jug of Beer  
Cloudincia Portagate  
***

Author's notes: I asked Stephanie about these cards, so you can't say I'm cheating! And Jant is rather depressed…

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Castle mythos, it is property of Stephanie Swainston, who is fantastic to have thought of it, and incredibly patient in her emails.

***

The Jug of Beer. I hate the jug of beer, because I always interpret it the same way: something good gone too soon. Like the sense of hope I had that this time I wouldn't draw the jug of bloody beer. Maybe it's time to change. I remind myself that the cards depend on how you interpret them and your interpretation depends on your present. Is my present always the same? Is my life stuck in a rut?

No, my life is the bloody rut. Trundling along the same old pathways, flying hither and thither for the emperor; my life is the jug of beer: something good that leaves you wanting more. I reach for my compass, but the stash of cat, jook, as they call it now, is gone. Long gone. I promised Rayne and San I would quit and I promised myself after Cyan and the battle of Slake Cross. Besides, the Shift doesn't offer more to life; it merely offers a different kind of life. Like two jugs; one full of wheat beer, one full of brown ale. They're both good, they both leave you wanting more.

God, why did I even begin talking to Lightning? No, he's not Lightning any more, he's Saker. Ever since he gave Cyan his post. But he's always been Lightning, he was Lightning before there was a Thunder, and long before there was a Comet. Like the jug of beer; something good, going too quickly. Why did I begin talking to him, he always gets me in the mood to philosphise. I need a drink. I put the compass down and reach my hand beyond it to the handle of…

I glare at the offending vessel and bring my hand back faster than a baby insect's mandible. Perhaps I should fly some to clear my head instead.


	2. Egret

On the Cards  
Chapter 2: The Egret  
Cloudincia Portagate  
***

Author's notes: I asked Stephanie about these cards, so you can't say I'm cheating! And Jant is rather depressed…

DISCLAIMER: I do not own the Castle mythos, it is property of Stephanie Swainston, who is fantastic to have thought of it, and incredibly patient in her emails.

***

The flight does clear my head, and, when I race the storm back, feeling the pressure building around me I feel wonderfully free of it all. It's a relief to be able to close my window against the darkening sky and light the lamps. Catching sight of the cards still waiting I flip over the next one.

The Egret, complete with a picture of a ridiculously fat, fluffy baby bird. Cyan would adore it. Cyan adores the egret, I am the egret. Damn you Saker I can't screw Cyan until you're dead, you overprotective father. And if she balls up just once more then you're back in the circle like a shira to a bottle. But she's held off three challengers, all former students of Saker, so she's clearly more dangerous than she looks. Like the egret. I'm supposed to be the egret! Does that mean I look more dangerous? I look like a cat with wings. I glance at the mirror to check; thin, muscular, an odd protrusion halfway up my spine changing my Rhydanne upper body to Awain, although my powerful wings are far more impressive than their vestigial ones.

I suppose I might be more dangerous than the feline-bird that looks at me from the mirror, especially now I'm clear of cat. Rayne says two more years, but I know, I'm done with that. I have a conviction, I suppose, a determination to prove I can become something greater. Like the egret, the baby on it's way to becoming a full fledged eagle. Like Cyan, in a way, she can barely limp around the circle, but she's determined to fly. I can soar. No I can't. Because if I soar to high, or too far I'll remember the way I used to be, and I'll go back to cat, and in the end, I'm as helpless as the egret, relying on San-mama's goodwill to keep feeding me.

I flop down on my bed to get away from the cards, when did my mind become so Eszai-complicated? I preferred it when it was focused on the drug-routine. No I didn't. I'm the egret, soaring, no, limping away from that.


End file.
